Anything for My Lady
by Sir Ravix of Fourhorn
Summary: The Ashen One finds Gael at world's end. The slave knight's duty passes to another. A new world is painted from the ashes.


_**Apologies if my old English is severely lacking, I only use it for the painter.**_

* * *

 _'In hindsight, perhaps touching the first thing to catch my interest was a bad idea.'_ The Ashen One pondered, staring grimly at the utter desolation he had apparently caused. What had once been a sprawling and beautiful if not tainted city was now nothing more than ash. The only remnants of the city at world's end were the occasional tops of buildings that stuck from the ash stubbornly, as well as the room the bonfire he currently rested at resided in.

He winced as he turned around and saw what was once the beautiful Princess Filianore. The slumbering princess now looked akin to a hollow, decayed and rotten, her former beauty mangled beyond all repair. It seemed now that her slumber truly was eternal.

 _'An unfitting end for a daughter of Gwyn...'_ Heaving a sigh, the Ashen One lifted their sword, a frayed and decaying blade that had been a reminder of Midir's demise. The weapon and its sheath were soon returned to their usual positions at his side as he prepared to venture out into whatever an ashen wasteland could throw at him. Knowing his luck, he had no doubt that there would be something out there, just waiting for him to come a tad too close.

It was only when he stepped out of the room and away from the comforting warmth of the bonfire, dying as it was, that he truly felt the scale of what he had apparently wrought. The proud warrior nearly dropped to his knees in sorrow, but quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts a bit.

The ash made traversing the wasteland a tad more difficult than he would have liked, especially since he was certain that some had managed to slip into his boots somehow. Any thoughts of his discomfort were thrown out when he noticed a figure crawling towards him, agonizingly slow but steady at the same time. He frowned when he noticed the state the person was in. Their face twisted in misery, both their right arm and leg missing completely, and a steady amount of dark blood staining the ground beneath them as they desperately crawled away from whatever had no doubt caused their condition.

The most curious bit, to the Ashen One at least, was the crown that rested atop the person's head. A pygmy lord, no doubt. An inheritor of the Dark Soul of man, the same Dark Soul he had heard so much about and that Gael had mentioned briefly after their bout with Sister Friede and Father Ariandel. The person lifted their head, showing that their throat was slit quite violently, yet they still clung to life despite it.

"Oh Filianore... help me, please. The Red Hood has come to eat us, to eat out dark souls." The pygmy lord moaned, pleading desperately for his princess' aid. Aid that the Ashen One knew would not come.

"I am afraid your princess is unable to provide you aid." The pygmy seemed to have not heard him at all, continuing their futile attempt to crawl to perceived safety. The warrior shook his head before swiftly removing the head from the former lord's shoulders. He was no scholar, but even he knew that despite their desperation in clinging to life that the pygmy would have died shortly. He merely decided to put them out of their misery.

With the corpse fading, he resumed his trek. With no real sense of where to go he simply decided to go forward, which just so happened to also mean following the grisly trail of blood the now deceased pygmy had left behind.

Eventually he came upon what had no doubt been a throne room in the past, but said thrones were aged and looked ready to fall apart at any slight shift in the wind. He saw no immediate danger at first but upon closer inspection spotted another pygmy lord, even more damaged than the last, also desperately crawling away from whatever had injured them so gravely.

The Ashen One only briefly considered that following the source of the violent dismemberment of the pygmy lords might have been a very poor idea. The lord died not long after he had spotted them, their hand outstretched in the direction of Filianore's resting place. As soon as he managed to trudge up the dune of ash, he regretted his decision.

An eerily familiar figure sat, hunched over and seemingly devouring yet another pygmy lord, before abruptly stopping. He had to fight back a gasp when they finally turned around.

Gael. The slightly off putting but overall friendly slave knight now seemed more like a monstrous abomination than a knight. Dark, almost black blood dripped steadily from both his mouth and the gaping hole in his stomach, though he seemed not bothered in the slightest about the normally mortal wound. His upper body was out of proportion with his lower body, only making his appearance more abominable.

Even with his face entirely hidden by his hood the Ashen One could tell that most if not all remnants of humanity and sanity had left Gael, likely due to the same thing that caused his dramatic shift in appearance. Gael seemed to pay no mind to the pygmy lord he had been devouring fading away, now focused solely on his former comrade.

"Gael, what has happened to you?" The Ashen One could not help but ask. Gael seemed to ponder the question before violently shaking his head while growling and flinging the black blood he had been consuming everywhere. The former slave knight hefted his now heavily chipped greatsword, attempting to stand only to wobble and end up crouching slightly on all fours like a beast.

"Still here? Hand it over, that thing, your Dark Soul." He reached his free arm out before wrenching it back quickly. "For my Lady's painting." Was that what this was about? The painting?

"There has to have been another way Gael. Why have you done this to yourself?" He desperately wanted to know. Gael twitched, raising his head a bit. The Ashen One could see a very small amount of his face, and what he saw concerned him greatly.

"Anything... anything for my Lady." Before the Ashen One could respond, Gael had sprung into action, leaping in a way that seemed unnatural for a man of his newfound size. The Ashen One hastily rolled back to avoid the no doubt devastating impact as ash was kicked into the air from the force, clinging to both of their forms. Gael seemed unperturbed by his attack missing its target, lifting his massive greatsword back over his shoulder.

"Gael, wait!" The words seemed to have no effect as Gael once again moved in a beast like manner, sliding with great agility to the Ashen One's left side, sending yet more ash flying into the air. He had no time to think before the mutated former slave knight was upon him, using his chipped greatsword more like a club than a sword. The Ashen One again managed to dodge the onslaught, frowning deeply as he drew his sword and holding it with both hands.

If anything Gael only seemed to get angry at his evasion, screaming to the sky in frustration before thrashing around with his massive blade in a furious attempt to cut The Ashen One down.

Said Ashen One grimaced as the hits connected with his blade, feeling his arms rattle from the massive amounts of force. Any more and he had no doubt they would have broken completely.

 _'Note to self, never block.'_ Gael attempted the same leaping slam that he had before, with his opponent dodging in a similar manner, though now instead of rolling backwards he rolled directly behind Gael.

If anything Gael only seemed annoyed by the flurry of attacks he unleashed upon his exposed back. The Ashen One bit back a curse before quickly rolling under a wild swipe of Gael's greatsword.

* * *

Finally Gael seemed to tire, after what felt like hours of fighting. The only fight that had made him this tired in the past was Midir, and he was a descendant of the Archdragons. Dark blood dripped from Gael's mouth, though this time it was his own, splattering onto the weapon that had continued to serve him well even after it had chipped.

"Ah, is this the blood? The blood of the Dark Soul..." Gael seemed content to simply stare at the blood that continued to drip from his mouth. The Ashen One's eyes widened, though he also felt that he should have expected this.

"The Dark Soul? You managed to find the Dark Soul of man?" The former slave knight nodded his head, apparently having a moment of lucidity.

"In a manner of speaking. When I finally arrived before the pygmy lords, they told me their blood had already dried, and therefore was useless. So I slaughtered them and drank their dried blood. The Dark Soul consumed my very being, and continues to do so as we speak."

"You knew it would consume you, didn't you Gael?" Gael again nodded.

"Yes, a mere slave knight like myself had no chance to fight its corruption. It matters not. I led you here, to me, because I knew I would turn into something horrible." It seemed that his moment of lucidity was fading, as he stood with the aid of his greatsword. "Ashen One, kill me. Take the blood of the Dark Soul to my Lady, I beg of you!" He nearly begged. The Ashen One slowly nodded.

"I will do as you ask, Gael." Gael seemed immensely relieved before the Dark Soul regained control. Instead of crouching on all fours Gael stood proudly with his greatsword held in both hands. The skies had darkened by now, lightning arcing across the sky yet no rain fell and the thunder violently boomed.

The Ashen One sighed, downing an ashen estus flask and a normal one before once again standing ready for the coming battle.

* * *

It had taken all of his supply of estus, ashen and normal, to finally down the twisted Slave Knight. Gael collapsed, his wounds becoming too much to bear as the Dark Soul's grip on him loosened slightly. His hood slipped off his head, revealing short snow white hair and black pits where there had once been verdant green. Gael accepted his death, smiling up to the now clear sky.

"Forgive me, my lady. I must take my leave." The only regret he took with him to his death was not being able to see her once more, but he considered her pigment of far more worth to her than himself.

The Ashen One watched sadly as the man's body stilled and finally began to fade. All that had been left behind was a few chunks of his body, covered in the blood of the Dark Soul. Gael's soul entered his collection, darkened nearly beyond recognition but still recognizable as his own. After the rather grisly task of collecting the blood left behind, the Ashen One kneeled at the bonfire that had appeared in the center of the former throne room. Envisioning the chapel in the Painted World, he only prayed to whatever Gods that remained that the girl and the painting itself were still intact.

* * *

He nearly shouted in relief when he heard the loud crackling of the flames that danced in the chapel. For many the flames would provide unbearable heat but he had dealt with far worse during his quest for the Lords of Cinder.

Swiftly climbing the ladder, he again nearly shouted his relief when he spotted Gael's lady. The young girl paid no mind to the flames, and the flames seemed to do the same, never reaching her or the giant canvas she sat in front of. Upon hearing his footsteps she turned to face him, smiling when she saw that it was him.

"Ah, Ashen One, welcome. It has been long since I have seen thee, or Uncle Gael for that matter." She thankfully failed to notice his wince at the mention of Gael. What she said next certainly didn't help his inner turmoil over the fate of her uncle figure. "Dost thou know of when Uncle Gael intends his return?"

"I'm sorry, but I have not seen Gael since our battle with Friede." He hated lying to her but he felt it necessary for the moment. She nodded with a frown, turning back to her canvas. "I do have something for you though." And she once again faced him.

"And what wouldst that be?" The Ashen One retrieved the blood of the Dark Soul that he had stored in an empty flask. He didn't exactly want to have her take it off of chunks of her uncle figure. It was bad enough that he had to do it. Her eyes shot open in surprise. "My pigment?" He nodded, handing her the flask.

I managed to retrieve it not long ago." The painter smiled, clutching the flask as if her life depended on it.

"I thank thee, truly. Now uncle Gael can make his return after so long..." He again winced, which she again didn't see due to her joy at getting the pigment she desired. "With this, I shall paint a world. Twill be a cold, dark and very gentle place, and one day, I hope for it to make uncle Gael a goodly home."

"I have no doubt that it will, my lady." She looked surprised again when he referred to her as such. Seeing her expression he chuckled lightly. In truth he felt it necessary to serve her in Gael's place. The rest of the world was likely ash just like the Ringed City, and he could see that the Painted world too had nearly rotted and burned away, as there was now a void of white beyond where the bridge outside the cathedral used to be. He had nothing to return to, and he had killed her uncle figure.

"Thou wouldst serve me? Like uncle Gael?" He merely nodded, causing the girl to smile once again. Her smile dropped into a frown for a moment. "I do not know thy name. Please tell me, and I will name this painting after thee."

"I am flattered, but I do not remember what my name once was. If you would, I might have a suggestion as to the name of your painting." She gestured for him to continue. "Why not name it after Gael? He certainly deserves the honor more than I." She happily nodded, accepting the idea.

"A wonderful idea. If only uncle Gael were here to see it." She sighed sadly before a fire entered her eyes and she began the process of creating a new painted world. The Ashen One merely chuckled at her determination, standing by her side and observing as she worked her magic.

* * *

The void had encroached upon the room where the painter and her newfound guardian once sat, abruptly stopping at the large canvas that now displayed an entirely new world. Said painter and her guardian were long gone, having vanished into the painting upon its completion.

The world portrayed was vast. Cold and dark, yet gentle and sleepy. A small settlement rested in the center, inviting despite its frigidness. In the foreground stood three figures.

One a small girl with snow white hair so long it reached the floor even from her perch on another figure's shoulders. A grin was stretched across her face, red slit eyes shimmering in the moonlight.

The second, the one she was perched on, was a tall elderly looking man. A long beard went down most of his chest, and his white hair was cut short in comparison. Verdant green eyes shimmered in a similar manner to the girl's.

And the third wore seemingly old armor, a brown tattered coat thrown over it all. A helmet with a hood of a similar shade of brown covered his face. He merely stood near the other two, arms crossed.

Near the bottom of the painting, a name was scrawled.

"Gael."


End file.
